


High Rise (Eye to Eye with Fireworks)

by Dekka



Series: Postural Hypotension AU [3]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Fainting, M/M, postural hypotension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:32:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22202002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dekka/pseuds/Dekka
Summary: “Lets get you upstairs,” Keefe decides, at Mitch’s side in less than a second’s time. It feels like the kid’s on a lag, protesting after he’s already pulled to his feet, “I’m not supposed to stand.”His slurred words aren’t much of a deterrent. “You can’t pass out here.”
Relationships: Mitch Marner/Auston Matthews
Series: Postural Hypotension AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1550362
Comments: 18
Kudos: 220





	High Rise (Eye to Eye with Fireworks)

The first thing Sheldon does when he steps into his new office is look out the window. 

It’s not a great view- the city is as grey as ever this time of year- but it’s Toronto in a way he’s never seen Toronto. It’s the leafs, it’s home- it’s a chance at greater victories and higher bounds. 

He’s not expecting the knock on his door, and is even more surprised at the man standing there. 

“Paul, right?” 

The head medical trainer for the team nods his hello. “Mind if I take a seat?” 

In all Sheldon’s years of coaching, he’s learned that having a medical trainer in your office first thing in the morning is never a good start to any day. “Please do.” 

Paul takes great care in shutting the door after himself. It’s a detail that turns Sheldon’s stomach. “Is there a problem?” 

The smile Paul gives him doesnt ease his worries. “You could say that.” He starts unloading the bag he came in with, file after filing pouring out to reveal nothing short of a dictionary’s worth of papers. 

“I have to admit, this is a little concerning,” Sheldon jokes. He’s heard stories of NHL players with years of substance abuse problems, and it’s all he can imagine lays in the folder in front of them. 

Paul gives no tells, his poker face well kept. “As you’ve probably guessed, you have a player we need to discuss.” 

Gravely, Sheldon nods. 

He never expected coaching in the NHL to be easy, but ten minutes in and he’s already wondering if he’s cut out to lead this team with the baggage that comes along with each player. 

***

Paul hates the pit in his stomach more than he can say. He wishes he would never have to do this and explain these circumstances. There’s just so much to unpack in the file he brings to Sheldon Keefe, he wonders where to even start. 

So, with words failing him, he goes for the easiest answer to his presence in the newest head coach’s office. “Mitch Marner has a medical condition.” 

The way Keefe’s face falls makes Paul think he’s already taken a step in the wrong direction. 

“Is he- is he okay?” 

“Yes,” Paul promises, quick to try to make this as easy as possible. “I’m willing to bet you’ve heard of people having problems with high blood pressure?” 

The turn in the conversation seems to confuse Keefe, but a light smile cracks his face. “Heard of? After getting the call I was hired I had to double down on my own blood pressure medication.” 

“I bet,” Paul sympathizes with a laugh. He’d pay money not be in the head coach’s shoes any day of the week. 

With a more lighthearted setting to dive into, he turns back to Mitch’s file. “With blood pressure, most people think of it being too high as an issue. But Mitch Marner has problems keeping his up.” 

He glances over to check in on Keefe, but the coach seems just as lost as when they started. “What happens is that sometimes Mitch’s blood pressure gets so low that he passes out.” 

Across from him, he can practically hear the other man’s breath catch in his throat. Whether it’s for the player or the woes coming his own way, Paul can’t tell. “When he’s playing, his body is mostly able to self-regulate because of his heightened heart rate and adrenaline. But times of rest become a huge issue, especially during games.” 

“So how do we combat this?” Keefe asks. 

Paul slides a couple more papers across the table. “On practice days, Mitch has three jersey options: Regular blue if he’s feeling fine, purple if it’s a questionable day, and orange for more severe days.” 

He cant help but think of Babcock’s blatant dislike of their color system; how he rolled his eyes at the purple jersey Mitch would don. ‘Can he play or not?’ Babcock would ask. His frustration was understandable, but was also as unhelpful as it was rude, especially as Mitch would beat himself up over not being able to play fully. 

Now, Keefe pages through the information unsteadily, glancing up at Paul like he has a thousand questions right on the tip of his tongue. It’s a surprising change to see that there’s no argument - no rebuttal- ready from the new coach, just genuine curiosity and sympathy. 

With him silent, Paul figures it’s safe to go on. “Before games, Marner has a slightly different schedule than the other guys. We get him in with fluids before and do check ins during and after.” 

“And what about during practice?” 

Paul considers how much he should say before meeting the coach’s stare head-on. “After these last few years, Mitch has become very comfortable with our medical staff. We’re always his first point of contact during meetings, practices, and games, and we’d like to keep the current system we have in place.” 

“Of course,” Sheldon reassures him, like it was never even a question. 

His response makes something deep in Paul’s chest loosen just enough for him to start liking Keefe. “During practice Mitch stays moving, even during breaks. It’s mostly enough for him to keep the dizziness at bay. And if he does start feeling symptoms, he comes immediately to whichever medical trainer is on the bench. I can promise you, this kid’s work ethic is off the charts. If he’s leaving a drill, even if it’s multiple days in a row, it’s because he has to.” 

He gives Keefe another minute to take it all in and to read more on the pages in front of him. “So,” the coach asks eventually, “what does he have? Is he at risk here?” 

In answer, Paul digs a little deeper in his own files and pulls out a packet originally from Mitch’s specialist. He hands a copy to Keefe and points out the third page. “It’s called Postural Hypotension. The Postural refers to his positioning. He gets it mostly when he goes from sitting to standing, or if his hands raise above his head. The Hypotension, of course, is the low blood pressure.”

With the Coach seemingly without questions, Paul lets the true nature of Mitch’s condition be known. “Normally, postural hypotension is a symptom. If someone’s blood pressure is that low, normally there’s an underlying cause or some treatable issue. Hell, if you google this, it says there’s medications- solutions- because nearly every person who has Postural Hypotension this severely has an underlying condition that can be addressed. With Mitch, there’s no underlying condition. He’s been through nearly every test, every change in diet- anything you can think of.” 

“So what’s causing it then?” 

Paul shakes his head, the same sadness flooding him when he first learned of Marner’s condition. “It’s rare, but is specialist believes theres a problem with his heart valves constricting. She calls it a type of Autonomic Failure. Something in his body just doesnt react correctly to him changing positions. It’s like the signal doesnt get sent up for his body to get more blood to his brain.”

“But while he’s playing he’s okay?” 

The reiteration of Coach’s earlier question makes Paul understand just how shocking this all is. He himself, after studying everything Marner’s specialist passed on those first few weeks, knows as well as anyone just how confusing this can be. “It’s like at that point, during the game, his blood pressure and heart rate are so high that the current pressure is enough to keep the blood from pooling in his lower extremities. What Mitch has, it’s rare, but it’s manageable. We’ve found a way to make this work.” 

He lets Keefe take everything in for a minute and even offers him a sympathetic smile when he seems at a loss for words. 

“So,” Keefe asks eventually, sounding breathless, worried, “Do I have to watch out for anything?” 

He’d never say it, but in that moment Paul is impressed beyond belief. This already feels like it’ll be easier than it was to handle under Babcock. 

In answer, he nods and hands over yet another paper. The Coach will be drowning by the end of this talk, but he seems to be eating it up, wanting more even. “You’ll have to look out for signs of confusion, possibly unfocused eyes, unsteadiness, slowed speech.” 

“Does the team know?” Keefe asks then. 

Thinking back to all those years ago, when Mitch slid to the ice in a heavy heap, Paul finds the mind the answer. “Mitch passed out during practice in his rookie year. After that, we had to let the players know.” 

The Coach’s final question comes with a certain disbelieving tone. “How has the media not eaten this up?” 

For just a second, Paul cant hide the grimace that flashes over his face. “Well, HIPPA is a beautiful thing for the medical staff under me, but mostly we hit anyone outside of the organization who knows with nondisclosure agreements.” 

“And Marner?” Keefe asks then. 

Paul cant help but have a certain fondness for the kid. He’s grown on him through the years more than he’d like to admit. “You’d never know the struggles he faces by his attitude. He’s the happiest guy on the ice everyday.” 

The painstakingly honest praise leaves the room in a considerably lighter atmosphere, and before Paul forgets, he slides the last piece of the paper over with an apology.

Sheldon’s lips quirk up at the non disclosure agreement, his grin slightly sad as he signs the paper and hands it back. “You don’t have to worry about me interfering here,” he promises. “I want to be as helpful as I can. Just let me know what needs to be done for Mitch.” 

“Well,” Paul wonders how far he can push the new coach- how far he can overstep before he gets shutdown, “Marner’s specialist has been asking for years for permission to run tests on him during practice and his daily routine here. Babcock thought it would be too much of a distraction from hockey for the other guys.” 

The pinched face Sheldon pulls is proof enough that he cares. “That’s ridiculous. Hockey is just a game, this is that kid’s life.” 

In that moment, so overwhelmed by the ease of their conversation, Paul isnt ashamed of the tears that prick his eyes. He’s been trying, fighting, so hard to get Babcock to understand how these tests could help Mitch. And now, Sheldon isnt even second guessing them. 

It’s a feeling greater than relief. 

“Thank you, Sheldon. You have no idea the impact these test could have.” 

***

William Nylander has never been one to beat around the bush. “So, are you telling Keefe about your thing?”

Mitch rolls his eyes, his hands moving seamlessly to lace up his skates. “Paul said he’d talk to him this morning.” 

Now that he thinks of it, it’s mildly concerning he hasn’t got a text or visit from their medical trainer. 

“I was hoping we’d give Keefe a ‘welcome to the team’ prank,” Travis says, from across the locker room. “Shock him a little with your thing.” He’s been bouncing off the walls since the news broke, as excited to have his old coach back as he is to have Babcock gone. 

Mitch doesnt bother looking up at his teammate or entertaining the implication of his words. His skate has been fitting a little funny since his high ankle sprain and he thinks if he just pulls the laces that much more- 

“What? Like we shove Mitch in a room with him and hope he passes out?” 

That, at least, gets Mitch looking up a Willy. He hates that he considers it for a second, imagining the look on their new coach’s face as one of their top players goes 'lights out' on his watch. 

“How is that even a prank?” Auston asks. 

Surprised by his entrance, Mitch smiles up at him, a soft ‘hi’ passed between them below the flow of conversation. 

“It’d probably freak him out- get him on his toes.” Travis looks altogether too excited at the idea. 

“He’s coaching _us_-” Mitch snorts, standing up to throw on his jersey. He doesnt miss the way Willy’s hand floats at his back as he does, ready to catch him if he falters. “-He’s already on his toes.” 

In congratulations for staying up, Will leaves him with a sharp pat. 

“Thanks, bro,” Mitch throws his way. Even distracted, he takes the time to consider the colored jerseys in his stall. He’s not dizzy now, but this morning was a mess. Auston had to bring him his toothbrush in bed just so that he didn’t have to stand. 

In the end, what it comes down to though, is his current state.

He takes the blue jersey despite the purple being a more honest choice and leaves the other two there. He’s ready to be back on the ice. 

“I still think it’d be funny,” Travis yells after him. 

Mitch tosses him his clear tape and gives him an teasing smile, “I’ll make sure I’m with you next time I feel like passing out then.” 

“I’d handle it fine,” Travis boasts, but Mitch’s knowing laugh drowns out his continued rebuttal.

“Remember our team thanksgiving?” Auston asks, loud enough for the other guys around them to join in on their ribbing.

“Yeah Dermy, didn’t you cry when Mitch took his nose dive?” Mo chimes in. 

“I was drunk!” Travis argues, “that shouldn’t count.” 

“You still cried,” Mitch hums back, already halfway down the tunnel. 

***

He’s lucky enough that practice goes off without a hitch, and unlucky enough for Keefe to still stop him in the hotel lobby later that night. “What’s up, Coach?” 

“I talked to Paul this morning-”

Even expecting it, Mitch feels like a weight’s grown on his chest. He’s just gotten so used to ignoring Babcock’s remarks about their medical plans that he cant even imagine talking proactively about his condition now. Hell, even when things were at their best with Babs, they only ever discussed it one-on-one fleetingly or when something went seriously wrong. 

“Mitch, come with me.” Keefe pulls him aside, towards a sitting area just off the entrance of the lobby. 

It’s cozy, home-y even, but somehow still completely uncomfortable. It's the heat, maybe, or the lights in here that seem too dim- or too bright? 

Mitch cant help but look back as his teammates move on, wishing against everything that he could skip the awkward sympathetic talks he always gets thrown once people know about his condition.

“I’ll keep this short,” Sheldon promises, but even still he gestures for Mitch to sit and takes the seat across from him. “I understand things could be tense between Babcock and the medical staff and I just wanted to let you know that things will be changing. I want you and Paul to always do what you think is best and I want you to know that you can always come to me if there’s ever anything you need- or if there’s adjustments I need to make.” 

“Oh,” Mitch says, dumbfounded. Of all the things Sheldon could’ve said, he never expected his full support. “Thank you.” The surprise doesn't stop the churn of dizziness that presses in on him. He only has time to think '_not now,'_ before another waves hits. 

***

As they go on talking, and minutes pass, Sheldon cant help but notice the way Mitch’s eyes grow more and more unfocused. 

“Are you waiting for someone?” He asks. 

Mitch’s gaze snaps from the lobby doors back to his eyes, but they seem glazed now, almost unseeing. 

A couple blinks more, and Mitch’s slow, stuttered “No, why?” sends alarm bells raging through Keefe’s head. 

“Are you dizzy?” He’s already patting his pockets down to find his phone, but he remembers too late that he left it in his carry on and gave that to a staff member to bring up to his room. There’s no way to call their medical team now. 

“Marner,” he snaps, when his question goes unanswered. Keefe doesnt mean to bark at the kid, but he’s admittedly a little scared. 

It doesnt help that the hotel lobby is as busy as ever. 

If he’s the first person with Marner when his condition gets ousted he’ll never forgive himself. 

“I think I should’ve got off the buss slower,” Mitch finally says. He’s already starting to lean to one side and his breaths can be seen as his chest heaves them in, slow and altogether too deep. 

“Lets get you upstairs,” Keefe decides, at Mitch’s side in less than a second’s time. It feels like the kid’s on a lag, protesting after he’s already pulled to his feet, “I’m not supposed to stand.” 

His slurred words aren’t much of a deterrent. “_You can’t pass out here_.” 

Keefe takes great care in inconspicuously throwing the player’s arm over his shoulder and dragging him away from the busy lobby. “There’s an elevator just down this hall. Once we’re there, we only have a couple more floors to get to Paul.” 

He cant help but notice the weight against his side getting heavier and heavier the longer they walk. “Just a bit farther,” he promises, but Marner is already stumbling. 

“Call Auston,” the kid begs, but Sheldon’s at a loss. “I don’t have his number.” 

With those last few steps they make it to the elevator, the button pressed for their floor with Mitch swaying into his side. “It’s okay, it’s going to be okay,” Sheldon promises. He doesnt know whose benefit his words are for, but either way they go unheard. 

“I need’a sit down.” The words aren’t even completely out and the kid is sagging to the floor, pulling Sheldon down with him as he tries to ease his way. 

They’re just lucky enough that the doors choose that moment to open. 

“Two steps,” Sheldon tells Mitch, but he ends up dragging the kid the two feet. 

The safety of the closed doors is all the relief they get. Marner goes out completely, his head sagged to the side likes he’s just sleeping. 

“I’ve got you,” Sheldon promises, and eases Marner the rest of the way to the floor. 

Luckily close enough that he doesnt have to move away from Mitch, Sheldon slams his hand on their floor number. 

It’s barely a twenty second ride, but it’s enough for him- panting and nearly in disbelief- to wonder how the hell he ended up in an elevator with an unconscious multi-million dollar player. If someone were to tell him this is where he’d end his day, he’d say they were nuts. Now, he’s just happy that the kid’s chest is noticeably moving on it’s own. 

The doors, when they finally open to the right floor, blissfully open to two players. 

“Get Paul,” he yells at Barrie, all while pulling Morgan, the other, in. “We need to get him in a room.” 

“Mine’s two down on the right.” They go without question, getting an arm under each of Marner’s sides and another under his knees. 

“How long is he normally out for?” Keefe hates how out of breath he sounds as Rielly breathes easy, unworried, even while carrying Marner through the hotel hallways. 

“Normally it’s just a couple seconds, sometimes it’s longer though, or really long if his blood pressure doesnt go back up.” 

“And if it doesnt go back up?” They get through the door, just making it to the bed in time for Mitch to let out a soft groan. 

“Paul has Epinephrine,” Rielly tells him, "and a couple of the guys and Mitch carry EpiPens, but he’s not supposed to use them if it’s not an emergency.” There’s no other word but ‘practiced’ for the way the older player moves around the younger. He bends the kid’s knees, checks that he’s breathing alright, and then turns back to Sheldon. 

He doesnt feel much like a leader, a coach, in that moment. “Aren’t EpiPens for allergic reactions?” 

Reilly just shrugs. “I mean, yeah, but that drug also raises a person’s blood pressure. Paul said to only use it if he’s seriously not waking up though- something about it messing with his already messed up blood vessels and his heart palpitations.” 

Paul choses that moment to come running in, no Barrie in sight, but a med bag slug over his shoulder.

“How long has he been out?” He goes right to Mitch, getting a cuff around his arm right away to check his blood pressure. 

“I’d say we’re close to a minute,” Sheldon tells him, but Rielly shakes his head, “He groaned a couple seconds ago, I think he’s just not coming up very fast.” 

“We’ll give him some time,” Paul decides, and pulls back Marner’s eyelid. The way the kid pulls away slightly seems to relieve him. “Did someone call Auston?” he asks Rielly then. The player barely has time to shrug before Barrie breaks into the room with Matthews hot on his heels. 

“I told him he should’ve sat in the bus for longer,” Auston says in lieu of a hello. 

Sheldon’s a bit surprised by the way Paul backs off then, letting the other player closer even as he keeps up on checking Mitch’s vitals. 

It dawns on him then, as they’re watching Mitch heave in air, that maybe they should give the kid some privacy. 

“We should give Paul room to work” he says, to try to herd his players away. He gets as far as Barrie before Morgan gives him an awkward smile, “We’ll stay, thanks.” 

It’s clear they’re more than familiar with Mitch’s condition. 

“BP is 77 over 51,” Paul says then. 

The reading seems to relax Auston, even as Keefe practically feels his own blood pressure raise. “How is he okay?” 

The sympathetic smile Paul gives him is only proof that he doesnt belong in this room, “That’s actually a pretty good reading for him, considering.” 

In response, Mitch seems to move away from the hands on him. It keeps Sheldon rooted to his spot, suddenly unwilling to leave. 

Marner isnt even awake yet and already Auston starts talking, “Marns you passed out in the hotel lobby earlier with Coach, but you’re doing good now, getting close to good BP reading, okay?” 

Sheldon’s genuinely surprised when Mitch raises his hand to his chest and gives them a thumbs up. 

Auston keeps up the soothing cadence of his voice, filling Mitch in slowly even as the other player has yet to open his eyes. “You have no other injuries, no one saw you pass out, and you’re here with Barrie, Rielly, Coach, and Paul.” 

“Passing out can be pretty scary,” Paul tells Sheldon as he comes over to start packing up his stuff. “Mitch doesnt usually remember the moments leading up to losing consciousness, so waking up without any idea of what happened is pretty terrifying.”  
“That’s understandable,” Keefe reasons. He just wonders why it’s Auston at the player’s bedside- even earlier Mitch asked for him. 

“I’ve got eyes,” Auston calls out softly then, and Keefe looks over to find Marner blinking up at them, clearly still out of it. 

“That’s an estimated under 60 seconds unconscious and three minutes till eye contact,” Paul says back. 

When he notices Keefe looking at all the information he’s taking down, he shows him the chart he’s writing on. “We keep track of how long he’s out and until he’s able to open his eyes and move his extremities purposefully for his specialist to look over later.” 

Sheldon can only nod. 

“Are you alright?” Paul asks him in a terrible gentle tone. “I know you weren’t expecting any of this, and for something to happen today- normally it’s not very frequent but he’s been getting episodes back to back lately.” 

“I’m fine,” Keefe finds the mind to promise, “just- surprised, I guess. And worried.” 

“Mitch will be bouncing around before you know it,” Barrie teases. 

And he’s not wrong. 

Later that night, long after Keefe decided to head off to his own room to give Mitch privacy as he came back around, he runs into him in the hallway. 

“How’re you feeling?” He asks, stranded between his own door and the ice machine. 

Mitch shrugs, feigning nonchalance, but his blush gives him away. “I’m good now. Sorry you had to see that so soon.” 

They’re both in their sweatpants, bare feet left cold on luxury hotel carpeting. It’s oddly intimate for two people who are practically strangers. 

At the situation and the building tension, Keefe can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. “Mitch I’m just glad you’re alright, okay? I want you to be comfortable coming to me about these things- I need you to be. At least if we’re keeping that line of open communication, I know we’re doing everything we can to make sure you’re playing at your best.” 

For a second, Mitch just seems to take in his words with what looks like blatant relief and, when he finally pulls himself together, he sounds choked up. “Thanks Coach.” It makes Keefe wonder just how much of an asshole Babcock really was. 

He has a ‘goodnight’ on the tip of his tongue when Auston Matthews pokes his head out of a room, two doors down. 

“Oh, hey,” he says, like he’s surprised to see them. “Thought you might need help, Marns.” 

The look that crosses Mitch’s face is one Keefe would describe as ‘pleasantly annoyed’. “I’m fine, Aus. I already told you I’m not dizzy anymore.” 

Matthews at least has the decency to look a little sorry. 

In the moment, Keefe finds himself surprisingly impressed by the guys on this team. “Get some sleep you two,” he tells his players, “we’ve got an early call time tomorrow.” 

He doesnt miss the glance the boys exchange, or the way their eyes both fall to the vending machine snacks clutched protectively in Mitch’s hands. 

“Sorry-” Mitch starts, but Keefe just laughs and waves them away. 

“Enjoy tonight, but be ready tomorrow,” he warns them. 

“Will do, Coach,” Matthews chirps. He pulls his door open inches more, guiding Mitch in with a steadying hand on his back. ‘You sure you’re okay?’ Keefe can hear him ask, his voice low and terribly gentle, not meant to be overhead. 

As Keefe goes back to his own room, his hand freezes on the door knob and curious, he takes a glance back at Matthews’ room and watches the door close with his two players inside. 

He thinks he’s maybe starting to understand why it was Auston Mitch was always asking for.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments feed the writer :) 
> 
> A second part of this happening during a game is already written and will come out soon! But if anyone has anything else they'd like to see let me know!


End file.
